


As Water Flows

by Diary



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Awkward Conversations, Bechdel Test Fail, Bickering, Canon Disabled Character, Disturbing Themes, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Interspecies, Interspecies Friendship, Late Night Conversations, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, POV Brienne of Tarth, POV Female Character, POV Nonhuman, Werecoyote Brienne of Tarth, Werecoyotes, Werelion Jaime Lannister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8642344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: AU. A look at werecoyote Brienne and werelion Jaime in the GoT universe. Complete.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Game of Thrones.

Brienne smells the change in the air, sees the aura of the kingslayer changing, and tries to prepare herself.

“You’re your father’s second child, my lady? If I recall correctly, Lord Selwyn had four trueborn children and no bastards that I’ve heard of, but of course, that means nothing. Your brother was a healthy lad who unfortunately was taken by the sea that was his by birth right. He never manifested, did he, or are coyotes simply bad swimmers? Then, came you, and after you, came two more girls. I wager they were more fitting of such a descriptor at any rate.”

Keeping her eyes ahead, Brienne continues leading the kingslayer by the silver chains. _Water above, water below, water is everywhere, and in everything, water is life. Like water, I cannot be contained. Unlike water, I can chose the direction I flow and with what intensity. Water above, water below, water is…_

“It’s no wonder, I suppose. Out of all your father’s heirs, you are the one who received the most of your mother’s power. That’s why she died, isn’t it, soon after the last girl? And that girl, she didn’t last-”

“It’s a myth that coyote children receive a portion of their mother’s powers,” Brienne says. “My mother was able to do a full shift until the day she died. The silver plague claims many babies, both in and out of the womb. My second sister caught it from within.”

She has vague memories of her father and her mother screaming at one another. It was too early for her to deliver the baby, and he’d wanted her stop the pregnancy, and hopefully, kill the plague brewing inside by doing so. Her mother had adamantly refused.

If she were either crueller or simply stronger, she’d bring up the rumours the silver plague is responsible for Lady Lannister’s death and Tyrion Lannister’s deformities and almost complete lack of powers. There hasn’t been an adult human around for centuries, but from what she’s heard, he’s close to it.

“And, yet, you can’t do a full shift, can you,” he easily japs. “Why is that?”

Then, he continues, “I could teach you, you know.”

“Don’t insult me,” she scoffs. “You Lannisters often resort to bribery, but I’d begun to hope you truly did have a sliver of respect for my dedication to my duty. Offer me gold, offer my father lands greater than Tarth, offer me whatever you think I most deeply desire. I have no price but to be able to see my reflection in water without shame. Though,” she acknowledges, “I’m sure you and your family have heard such things before.”

“Yes,” he quietly says, “we have. But you, my lady, are the first whose heart and scent matched your determined words.”

Irritation at his genuine admiration runs through her. “Prideful lion,” she mutters. “It’s easy for you to judge those who can’t provide for their families, isn’t it? You Lannisters will do anything to advance, to make sure your children are even higher than you’ve ever been, but for someone else to take the opportunity to do the same for their children- Hm.”

Confusion mars his face and radiates off him. “Tell me, my lady, how I’ve offended you. I genuinely don’t understand. You yourself were disdainful of the idea of accepting a bribe.”

“For myself,” she retorts. “I will make my own way or die trying. The day I do something truly dishonourable is the day I hope to die. That doesn’t mean I don’t understand there are people out there who aren’t as strong or even as lucky as I. I can’t and won’t automatically judge those who do things I wouldn’t to try to help themselves or their loved ones.”

There’s silence for a long moment.

“Why can’t you shift,” he asks with simple curiosity.

“I don’t know,” she answers. “I’ve simply never been able to.”

…

The dark, almost hysterical thought, _bears truly are the bane of the kingslayer’s existence_ , runs through her mind.

A werebear married his beloved sister, and long before Stannis’s letter, people made silent note of how the Baraethon children all seemed fully lion with no bear in them. Yet, even if he and she managed to have their little lion cubs, he could never fully claim them or her or be claimed by any of them.

Now, werebear Locke has chopped off Jaime Lannister’s sword hand, and normally, this wouldn’t be too much. Even with all the wolfs bane and salt they’ve cruelly rubbed into the wound and the silver restraints around it, as long as the hand was kept, it could be reattached.

Locke had thrown it into the fire.

Ser Jaime Lannister, pride of the Lannister pride, killer of King Aerys II Targaryen, has become a cripple. He might still be able to shift, but he’ll be without a paw, and he’ll never be able to wield a sword again.

If it weren’t for her duty, she’d see letting him die as the kindest thing she could do, but she made a vow, and two little girls hang in the balance.

“Eat,” she says.

“There’s no point,” he mutters.

“I know your father taught you better than this,” she declares. “Brienne the Beauty. Too tall, too big, misshapen face, skin too pasty or freckled, graceless in movements, decent enough at simple sewing and cooking, a failure at everything else considered womanly. My father has no sons and will likely have no grandchildren to inherit Tarth. All my life, boys and men and even other girls and women have been knocking me down, yet, every time, I get back up.”

“You killed the king, you and your sister have lain together and produced children, and you’ve been imprisoned for over a year. Throughout it all, you’ve continued on. Lannisters don’t give up, do they? Not your father, not your sister, the Queen, not your imp of a brother, and not even your mother who brought him forth.”

“There will be whispers. People will underestimate you. Some might mock you to your face. Without a doubt, there will be physical challenges you’ve never faced and some you might not be able to ever fully overcome. The only way your Lannister spirit and pride can be taken is if you surrender it. If you decide to stop getting back up. Otherwise, not even death can fully wipe it away. Queen Cersei’s children, whether you call them your sons and daughter or your niece and nephews, do you want them to hear that a Lannister let themselves be broken, or do you want to tell them how you will always be strong and give everything you can to get back to them and their mother?”

He eats, and she determinedly ignores the gratitude and what is, perhaps, genuine respect radiating off him.

…

Bran Stark was only seven when he was pushed off a tower.

He didn’t die, but he’s yet to manifest any of his wolf, either. He remains a broken necked boy, unable to move. 

In a large tub of hot water, Brienne feels herself coming back to herself. Without any silver and wolfs bane near her, energy thrums within, and she listens to Jaime Lannister tell her how the mad king planned to kill thousands, if not millions, of his own people with wildfire.

If not for Bran Stark, she could be one of Ser Jaime Lannister’s biggest defenders, she realises. The incest is discomforting to think about, but then, most thoughts of anything related to sex are discomforting to her. He’s never forced his sister, she’s never forced him, and their children are all healthy. Adultery- as he once said, even the truly honourable Ned Stark once succumbed to it.

Supposing Bran lives to adulthood, he might well be the first human adult in centuries, and worse than this, a completely helpless human, on par with an extremely intelligent, verbal baby.

“You are anything but unobservant and naïve, my lady, though, you do let many believe otherwise, don’t you? Renly and Loras together wasn’t just foul rumours. Do you think, if someone had discovered them, they would have simply-”

“Yes,” she immediately answers. “Before he became King, Renly was a prince in all but title. He was King Robert’s brother, and whatever the king might have thought, we both know he never would have harmed Renly over such a harmless thing. I once would have said of Stannis- well, he killed Renly, and he’ll one day die for it, but it wasn’t because of Renly and Loras. It never would have been. The same with the Tyrells, no one would have harmed Loras even if it had come out.”

“Furthermore, a person did discover them. I walked in once. Loras used that of one of many attempts to get me dismissed, but Renly was calm, kind, and unashamed, just as a true king would be.”

“Hm,” he replies. “Yes, all that’s fair enough, I suppose. It simply comes down to this, then: Would you do something dishonourable to save your father, my lady? If the answer’s no, then, we’ll both just have to accept that you’ll never understand. If the answer’s yes, however- I’ll never say I did the right thing in pushing Bran Stark. I did what I hoped would best protect my sister, our children, and even my little brother.”

“If my father needed protection, it wouldn’t be because he did something dishonourable and was apt to face the consequences of his actions,” she says.

“Perhaps that matters to you,” he says. “It doesn’t to me. No matter what my sister, brother, or the children did, if they were in danger, I’d give anything to save them. They’re more important than their actions.”

She stares into the water.

If she’s truly honest with herself, she’s not sure her father isn’t, too. Every year, he’s involved with some new woman. She’s always been afraid he might end up with a married one or conceive a child out of wedlock. While she tends to believe he’d marry the woman in the event of the latter, there’s always the possibility he or the woman herself might not know in time.

She can’t imagine him doing anything worse, but if he did- he’d still be her father. He’d still be the man who rocked her to sleep when she was little, taught her to swim, argued almost endlessly over every marriage contract involving her, and eventually hired someone to properly train her and spent the money most fathers spent on gowns and jewellery on armours and weapons for her.

“I don’t know if I would or wouldn’t,” she answers. “What I do know is that, as of now, I haven’t dishonoured myself. I won’t call you ‘kingslayer’, again, but you are still a kinslayer who almost killed and might have irrevocably harmed a young child.”

It’s irrational to think he starts to intentionally drown due to having no retort, but if not for the sudden painful, sickly scents and colours coming off him, she likely would.

As it is, she holds him up, calls for help, and feels her heart clench oddly when he hoarsely, desperately murmurs, “Jaime. My name is Jaime.”

…

With silver coated in mistletoe wrapped around her wrists and a wooden sword in her hands, she knows she’s about to die by the roaring bear, and even as she tries to stave this off, her mind frantically tries to organise the appropriate prayers. Her septa always was more concerned with making her feel low for not being ladylike and having an easy grasp of social graces than with teaching religion, and most of her maesters were more secular than not. She doesn’t worship the old gods, but she’s always felt more a sense of holiness in godswoods than sitting through services focusing on the seven.

A thump startles her, and suddenly, she’s been dragged. “Get behind me,” Jaime Lannister orders, and she sees him in front of her. He’s still hasn't come back into full health, he’s unused to even standing without both hands, and he’s roaring at the bear and dragging her over to the side.

When he turns, she’s momentarily struck by his golden eyes and wonders how in the world he still has them when she knows for a fact he’s killed and done much more of it than she has. Then, she realises, unlike her, he might have stuck solely to using outer weapons rather than his claws or teeth.

“You fool, what are you doing,” she demands. “The Stark girls-”

Kneeling down, he starts to ease her onto his shoulders. “You might not be much of a woman, but you are a woman, wench, and one who can prove you are trusted by their mother. The easiest way to transport them is to have you. Now, grab their hands!”

She grabs the dangling hands of the escorts, and once pulled up, she kicks away one of them trying to get the chains off, orders, “Grab my legs,” and goes down to the ground and holds out her hands. “Well, come on, then,” she yells as he roars again at the irate bear. “Without you, I’ll be obligated to fight your family’s soldiers in an attempt to get to them.”

He grabs them, the others pull, and he and she both hit the ground above the pit.

…

In the moonlight, she can feel him healing a little more. “I should be grateful, I know, but why did you come back and risk yourself, Ser Jaime? If we’d both died, the Stark girls-”

“I’m starting to regret it."

“I’m asking sincerely.”

He sighs. “I do bad things easily, my lady. That doesn’t mean I don’t remember a time when I yearned to do good.”

Turning, she looks at him.

Of course, he’s always been physically handsome. Even when he was covered in dirt, blood, and animal droppings with filthy clothes and too-long, shaggy hair, a person could make out the fact he’d be handsome if cleaned.

In the bath and now, however, she sees a conflicted man who nevertheless does what he needs to ensure he, too, can stomach his own reflection. All the bad he’s done has been in the name of love.

Most of the good she’s done has been in the name of trying to feel better in her own skin.

Someday, she’ll kill Stannis, and she might be condemned in the much the same way he has been, but she won’t care, because, Renly should have died old and relatively painlessly in his bed with the seven kingdoms mourning a great king, not young, in pain, and held by her.

“Thank you,” she says. “I hope to repay you someday.”

He shakes his head. “Careful, my lady. You sound dangerously close to-”

“You have honour in you,” she interjects. “You’re annoying, can be cruel, and are nowhere near as funny as you seem to think you are. But you have honour in you, and I see that. We might well end up on opposite sides someday, but for now,” she rubs her shoulder against his, “please, accept my thanks. Unless and until such a day comes, I will call you an ally and strive to treat you as such.”

He lets out a shuddering sigh, and she’s surprised this is followed by even more of his strength returning. “In all sincerity, would you like me to help you try to do a full shift, my lady? I have helped those training under me do so.”

“I appreciate the offer, but at this point, I’ve accepted it will never come. Can any of the royal children fully shift?”

“All but Joffrey,” he proudly declares. “Tommen only recently started coming into his abilities when I first left, but when he was a baby…”

…

Whatever tentative good feelings she’s been developing for Jaime Lannister are rapidly dwindling.

Lady Stark- Gods keep her and welcome her into the best heavens there are.

She won’t be alone, if this is any comfort to her, though, Brienne knows she yearned for her children to live long and be happy. Bran Stark, the child Jaime made cripple, is dead, along with his little brother, and if Bran hadn’t been injured- Jaime didn’t outright kill Lady Catelyn’s two youngest children, but he played a part in the death of both. Little Arya is missing. According to Lady Catelyn, she was always sprouting claws and fangs when angry even as a tot; perhaps, Brienne prays, this will keep her alive.

Sansa Stark has been forcibly married to Tyrion Lannister.

Well, then, she’s miserably failed in three different ways, possibly four, but as long as Sansa, at least, lives, the Starks, the Tullys, will continue to live on.

“Brienne-”

Swiping at him, she tries to move past, and to her shock, she finds herself pinned to the ground with his claws resting on her neck. They aren’t breaking skin, but she knows the tiniest sliver of movement would have them doing so.

In addition, she’s uncomfortably aware of his warm weight on her back.

“I told you I was strong enough,” he easily drawls. “Though, I suppose you might insist that you meant at swordplay, and I admit, I’m not yet as good as I once was. You’re a strong fighter, my lady. One of the strongest I’ve ever met, if I’m honest. But you rely too heavily on that rather than speed and grace.”

“Now,” he sighs, “the best way to take Sansa is to wait until Joffrey’s wedding. Quietly steal her away. Take her to the Blackwater, to Dorne, to wherever she might be both safe and happy. If you let me, I can help you, and I will. Or,” there’s shifting, and she tries to ignore her body’s reactions, and then-

In front of her lands a sword.

“If you reach out and pick it up, I’ll move my claws and stand up. Your best fighting against mine. I could have beat you once with one. Now, I’ll wager I can beat you armed with one and me without.”

Before she ended up on the floor with his claws on her neck, she would have confidently taken this bet.

“In the name of the royal children, swear to me that, come the wedding, you will help me safely take Sansa Stark away.”

“In the name of my two sons and my daughter, I swear, come Joffrey’s wedding, I will help you get Sansa Stark to safety, Brienne.”

“Get off me,” she says. “I’ll not fight you today.”

…

There’s really not much she can do about the fact she’s almost certainly failed the entire Stark family.

Jaime is reeling, and the Queen mother needs time alone to process her own grief.

Brienne often feels great sympathy for people and kindness towards them, but often the kindest thing she can do is not try to express these sentiments. Without meaning to, she often makes things worse.

Sitting beside where’s he pressed against the wall, she carefully touches the shaking Jaime’s shoulder.

He curls into himself. “He was a bastard, a cruel, sadistic, at times, stupid boy. He was a horrible king. Margaery is well rid of him. Renly might not have satisfied her much in bed, if he could ever manage to get around to it, but he would have been better than- That’s what Cersei and I created. That’s what died. I never even knew him enough to miss him. I don’t miss him. But he was- How can he just be gone?”

Scooting closer, she wraps both arms around him and listens to him break out into eerie sounding sobs. Even when he was delirious and sick in Locke’s camp, he never sounded like and sent off such colours and scents as this.

Eventually, he stops. “What are you going to do about Sansa?”

“Try to find her. Go against you and all Lannister men, if necessary,” she answers. “Don’t do this, Jaime. If you didn’t trust me, you would have had me on the floor again the moment I touched your shoulder. Whatever might help- tell me. I do mourn for you losing your child. Whatever he was, whatever he did, he was your firstborn. He was your boy. I’m so sorry you had to see him taken on what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of his life. I’m so sorry he was taken at all while you still live.”

“Thank you,” he chokes out.

For hours, she continues to hold him.

…

Along with Valyrian steel, there’s a metal designed to absorb moonlight and spread it throughout the wearer’s body. Unlike Valyrian steel, there are those who can still forge out of this metal, but the cost-

Even for a Lannister, the cost is much too high to waste on a failure of a hedge knight.

“I hope I got your measurements right,” he jokes.

She should try to be patient, she knows. “Jaime, I’m not accepting this. Give it to one of your most trusted, skilled cloaks. Give it to Loras as a sign of-”

“I know for sure I got the measurements well enough that it won’t fit any of them. Take it, Brienne. It will make you stronger, declare by sight you are a Tarth, and most importantly, it matches and brings out your eyes. Both sets.”

In response, she rolls said eyes.

“Take it. I truly can afford it.”

“I thank you,” she murmurs.

...

Of course, she is quickly, forcibly reminded, if Jaime Lannister is given an inch, he’ll take every amount of space there is for himself.

She wonders how she forgot what she once knew all too well.

…

The armour, a fast, healthy horse, a bloody sword made of Valyrian steel, and now, a nervous, kittenish, puppyish boy by the name of Podrick Payne. He’s a mixture of things, some wolf, some lion, possibly some bear, and most interestingly of all, he has some kanima flowing through his veins.

“I won’t slow you down, ser, my lady,” he jumbles out with his soft brown eyes briefly turning to slits.

“If he stays, he’ll definitely be killed,” Jaime adds, and the boy gulps. “They’re saying my brother has been controlling him.”

Hurt, offended indignation washes over Podrick. “That’s not true, S-ser Jaime. I mean, yes, they’re-they’re saying that, but Lord Tyrion has always been good to me. I serve him willingly.”

Jaime puts a hand on his shoulder. “I know, lad. Convince Lady Brienne here, not me. She’s one of the best fighters you’ll ever meet, and if you can trust anything, it’s that she’ll never do anything she finds truly dishonourable.”

Podrick looks at her with uncertain, pleading eyes, and sighing, she orders, “Ready the horses.”

“Yes, right away, thank you, ser, I mean, my lady!”

While he’s doing so, Jaime smiles at her, and she deliberately shuts most of her senses down. “They say the best have names,” he says with a nod to the sword. “Any ideas?”

“Oathkeeper,” easily comes out.

He smiles, and she’s overwhelmed with sadness. “Goodbye, Brienne.”

 _Be safe_ , she wants to say. _I’ll miss you. Please, live. I’m sorry I- I know you better, now. You have good in you, and I thank you for all you’ve done. Perhaps, if things were different, we could be true friends. I’ll try my hardest never to let you down. I- I feel more for you than I should. Please, live._

Instead, she climbs onto her horse, helps Podrick onto his, and curses herself when she finds herself stealing one last look back.


End file.
